Alex Gurtis

Self-Portrait as the American Southwest After a Record Snowfall

I drink whiskey dripping
from an Airbnb porch
as the sky begins taking off
a necklace of pastel stones.
Family tells me this time
will be different. A grandma’s death

is a natural arch
bridging the fractures
in our family;
a potential reformation
of our blood-drenched bonds.

Out here, visitors peer
through technicolor rock forests
carved by ice wedges
at the vistas of ponderosa
pine groves, pinion forests

and red sandstone
wet with snow. This year,
a historic blizzard may melt and fill
the thirsting tributaries but next year
rivers will still be in drought.

Pictographs tell the cliffs
a familiar family story:
the elements erode
even the thickest rock.

Perseverance is hope:
a little water, a little moonlight,
but the smarter you are
the more powerless you become.